


Falter

by Contraband



Series: The Kenway Chronicles [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: I will update tags every chapter don't worry, M/M, anything that needs warnings, at least so there's that, but so far there isn't really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-03 05:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17277533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Contraband/pseuds/Contraband
Summary: Haytham never expected Charles Lee to be a relevant part of his work in Boston, let alone of his personal life. But he finds the endearing awkwardness of the young and hopeful Lee is something that he doesn't want to be away from.Perhaps work for the Templars has kept Haytham lonely for too long. What's a little affection between two associates, as long as they each remain focused on the tasks at hand?(this story is a companion to my other work Revolution Evolution, and this one outlines Haytham's relationship from the start with Charles, whereas that one focuses on him and Connor)





	1. Over-Enthusiasm

It had been decidedly long enough since Haytham had slept in a "real" bed. He wanted nothing more than to kick off his salt-water bathed boots and sink into soft sleep.

But as he stepped off the plank onto dry land for the first time in nearly three months, the Templar knew that he would get no such comfort yet. Arriving in Boston was only the mark of a new stage in his work, rather than a pause for rest.

The pier was crowded as sailors from the _Providence_ and other ships rushed towards the first fresh grog in months. Most of those from Haytham's own ship were held back with docking still though, so it wasn't too busy until he reached the first stands of the market that sprawled before green arrivals to the New World.

Despite the clamor of voices, one rose above the others, catching Haytham's attention. Though it wasn't that loud, it had an urgent, insistent sort of tone, and it was calling his name.

"Master Kenway! Master Kenway!"

Haytham's eyes darted to the source immediately. He had been advised that someone might meet him at the pier. It was only courteous, really. Still, this could be someone else altogether. He had also been advised to expect anything once his feet were in the New World.

His man, if this was his man, was young, though not exactly still a boy, and he was around Haytham's own height and approximate build, though over a decade of heavy physical training separated Haytham from him markedly.

Haytham stepped out of the main traffic heading away from the pier and asked: "Yes? May I help you?"

"Charles Lee, sir," the man said in an over-eager tone that made it very clear he wanted something -- approval or a hand-out, Haytham wasn't sure yet. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I've been asked to introduce you to the city . . . help you settle in."

Ah. Approval it was, then.

Haytham gave a minute nod and moved to retrieve his bag, which had just been set down nearby by one of the crewman from the _Providence_.

"Oh! No need, sir! I've arranged for your bags to be delivered to the inn."

Haytham raised an eyebrow, studying his new companion. He didn't usually like to let others handle his things unattended unless he knew the person doing the handling. But as he studied Lee he realized that the name was familiar. 

"Are you by any chance John and Isabella's son?"

It would make sense. Isabella, especially, had always been very attentive and service-oriented too. Though from the pleased and unsurprised expression in Charles' eyes as he answered "One and the same," Haytham suspected that the young Lee was used to be recognized for his father's name. John Lee had been quite a remarkable colonel in his time.

And, if memory served Haytham right, and it usually did, that meant that Charles was oriented towards the military life too. His father had no doubt encouraged him greatly. His were big boots to fill, and knowing this background told Haytham exactly why Charles might be so eager to please and, more importantly, impress. He pressed for more information. "Your commission is with Edward Braddock, is it not?"

"Aye," said Lee. He took a deep breath and gestured with a polite half-bow for Haytham to follow him as he started off into the crowds of Boston. "But he's yet to reach America and I figured I might . . . well . . ."

Haytham already knew where this was going but he entertained Lee through the first falter.

"At least until he arrives . . . I thought . . ."

This wasn't going to go anywhere after all at this rate. "Yes, out with it."

"Forgive me, sir." Lee's face flushed pink a little, but it was easily disguised as an effect of their hurried clip along the cobblestone streets. "I had . . . I had hoped that I might study under you."

Haytham had drawn his conclusion prematurely. It seemed Lee did want more than simple approval. He wanted a new advantage in a competitive career track.

Lee continued after a beat, clearly not content to leave the suggestion naked without justification. "If I am to serve the Order I can imagine no better mentor than yourself."

His blue eyes shone with the energy of someone who was naive to what he asked. But there was a draw to that innocence too, one Haytham remembered having himself when he was very young. It had been extinguished earlier than for most . . .

"That's kind of you to say, but I think you overestimate me," Haytham said after a beat, realizing that he was still staring at the other man's eyes.

Charles didn't have any such delay with his response. "Impossible sir," he said, maintaining Haytham's gaze.

Then, after a moment, his boldness faltered and he cleared his throat. Gesturing, he directed Haytham along the docks with a simple "This way."

They continued inward towards the land proper. Market stalls lined the pathways and everywhere there was the bustle of people trying to avoid merchants' eyes as they cut around each other. A woman carrying a crate of apples gave a shout when someone jostled her, crashing the box to the ground. Apples rolled everywhere, one finding the open palm of an opportunist.

"Thief!" The woman barked. "Someone stop him!"

Haytham kept an eye on the apple thief in case he planned on causing more trouble than he already had. But it wasn't really worth playing gallant over a piece of fruit.

Instead, he simply commented as they continued along their way: "Boston's quite a lively city." Haytham wasn't even sure Charles had noticed the affair. He seemed very used to the commotion, which no doubt dulled his observations.

"Oh, there's all manner of things to see and do," Charles agreed with a glance and a smile. "Once you've settled in, I suggest you take some time to walk the streets."

He paused in his walking at the corner of an intersection. The docks were out of sight now, though the scent of sea-salt hung thick in the air still. "I'll retrieve our horses now and we can proceed to the Green Dragon, if that suits."

Haytham nodded assent and Charles disappeared into the steady trickle of foot traffic within seconds. 

Unattended once again, Haytham's eyes wandered the street, taking in the cobblestone, the shops and the people that stopped to stare into their windows. This was going to be his home now. Maybe not for too terribly long -- he hoped not for long. But Charles was still right, there was value in getting to know Boston if he were to stay here.

The houses and shops were all packed tightly, touching in many cases, with only narrow alleys between. Scraggly cats prowled at the edges of the street, hungry for dropped tidbits that they and Haytham both could smell through open bakery and butcher doors. 

The people themselves seemed dreary, which was no strange thing in the city. Everyone was concerned with their jobs, taxes, politics and feeding their families. But there was still an air of excitement that hung crisp in the air, inviting intrigue if one had a moment to spare on it. Boston was full of culture and secrets and people that loved her for it. Haytham felt that could become contagious.

Then Charles forged his way back through the crowd, parting it like the Red Sea with the two horses he led behind him. Hands occupied with holding their reins, he simply lifted his chin and flashed Haytham a timid smile as he approached, in lieu of waving.  
Haytham felt at ease at the sight of him, already forming a familiarity, which Charles made easy with his youth and genial awkwardness.

On the other hand, Haytham knew that the city and Charles alike were probably only so appealing at the moment because of the inferior company and habitat he had kept these last months.

Charles offered Haytham his pick of the horses, though one was clearly happier being handled by him than the other, which shied and yanked at the reins as it crow-hopped across the cobblestone. 

Haytham would have chosen the troublemaker if he wanted to impress his companion. But he was more interested in seeing how Charles handled an uncooperative mount, so he took the peaceful one's reins and climbed aboard, watching Charles with subtle interest.

The flighty horse, a dark sorrel mare, side-stepped as Charles tried to mount up. Charles didn't hop after her, but simply set his foot back down and waited a moment.

The horse stopped, angled away from him but still more or less broadside. 

Charles spoke softly the the mare. Haytham couldn't hear what he was saying, but he didn't waste much time with it. After a few seconds, he tried again. 

The horse side-stepped once again, but jostled into Haytham's, who snorted indignantly under him. Now pinned against Haytham's mount, Charles' was forced to hold still as Charles swung up gracefully.

"There we are," he said with a chuckle. "This is a borrowed horse, and I'm afraid she's still rather uncertain about me."

_As are others,_ Haytham thought.

But he smiled in response, a soft turn at one corner of the mouth. And then Charles urged his horse forward with a gentle clucking noise and Haytham followed a stride behind.

"The proprietors at the Green Dragon are . . . a bit eccentric," Charles told him as he gently quarreled with his mare's reins to keep her from side-stepping. "But the rooms are spacious, and they do not pry. I hope that you will find it agreeable enough."

"Eccentricity can be a nuisance, but it is often a useful tool, too, I find," Haytham ventured. He had often found that playing off of the unusual particularities of a person aided greatly in attaining information or other favors.

It seemed Charles understood this too on some level. "Yes, sir, I suppose so. Their manner is off-putting to some, so I think that they're glad enough to overlook any inconveniences from your associates. They are, after all, steady renters."

Haytham nodded approvingly. Charles was no stranger to forging business relationships wherever one effectively could. That would serve him well, whether or not Haytham decided that he were interested in one himself.

"Have you been told why it is I've come to Boston?" Haytham inquired after a few moments of quiet clopping along. 

"No," Charles admitted and he turned his head to look at Haytham with a keen interest sparkling in his eyes. "Master Birch said I should know only as much as you saw fit to share. He sent me a list of names and bade me ensure you could find them."

In addition to his social intelligence, it seemed that Charles was quite obedient. On the other hand, anyone could seem so with enough motivation. Time would tell the truth of it. 

"And have you had any luck with that?" Haytham prompted when Charles said no more.

"Aye, William Johnson waits for us at the Green Dragon."

Interesting. Was Johnson the easiest to find? Or perhaps he was simply the quickest to actually come when called. Or was he yet perhaps one of the most ambitious of Haytham's new associates . . . "How well do you know him?"

Charles was watching the road, navigating his horse awkwardly around people who didn't seem to know how to simply walk in a straight line on their own side of the road. But even by just his profile, Haytham could see that Charles was disappointed to have little to report when he next spoke. "Not well," he started. "But he saw the Order's mark and did not hesitate to come."

So, he was one of the quickest to come when called then; a well-trained hound, though not necessarily a loyal one. "Prove yourself loyal to our cause and you may yet know our plans as well."

Charles beamed like a schoolboy. "I should like nothing more, sir." 

But a moment later he sobered again, curbing his own over-enthusiasm. Haytham wished he wouldn't. It was endearing, but it was also honest. Such energy gave away how passionate Charles was about his work, and that he wanted more. It was helpful to be able to read that on a man's face. If one could, then one could also easily note the eventual absence of it, should his loyalty ever falter.

Then, after a few twists down narrowing and widening streets in turn, Charles pointed to a small square ahead, where things opened up. People milled about in the way, but the two-story brick tavern that Charles referenced was easily visible over their heads. It was large, but unassuming, and had an elegant but subtle dragon-shaped sign hanging above the door.

"Here we are," Charles announced.

The two dismounted by a post outside, where they hitched their horses. And then Charles ushered Haytham toward the front door with a little wave of his arm in presentation. "Welcome to the Green Dragon Tavern, Master Kenway."


	2. Proof

Haytham had seldom felt so alone.

In his youth, he had lived in a perplexing duality, both sheltered and cruelly endangered by turns. This had led him to a solitary upbringing, with few friends or even acquaintances, and a constant pang that told him he ought to have different -- better -- than he did. But when he had grown into a man, Haytham had more or less thought that these feelings would be put to rest. At last, he would venture into the world and do all the things he had been trained for, and forge new friendships. He would prove his worth to others.

Here, he had been disappointed. It turned out that being skilled didn't always secure approval from one's peers. Quite the opposite, it tended to create an invisible barrier all around him, through which no one wished to attempt to reach. This was evident when he sat down at the table with his new Templar contacts now. Clearly, his reputation had preceded him once again.

The evening before, Haytham and Johnson had sat down together and discussed his work. This morning he, Haytham, Hickey and Charles all met not out of any real need to discuss things further, but to eat together and become acquainted before Haytham set out once again on a retrieval errand.

Johnson and Hickey _were_ eating, but their body language told Haytham it was an uncomfortable silence that hung in the air, rather than simply one created by good food needing immediate attention. The creases in their brows and the tight tension in the jaw as Johnson loosened it to take a long drink . . . they were feeling threatened and mistrustful.

It might be true that Haytham often had such an effect on others, but from others like himself, which these men were certainly supposed to be, he often found that he craved just a little allowance for the rougher edges formed in his youth.

After his sister Jennifer's abduction, he had thrown himself into his training, with the help of his mentor Birch. It had driven a wedge between him and those that wished to show him concern. It even drove a wedge between him and his own mother, so much so that she had rejected association with him entirely, too traumatized by the acts he had committed in defense of his family. Perhaps those he tried to associate with saw his checkered past in the lines of his face as clearly as he saw their own discomfort now. There was no way to know, really.

At least young Charles, ever attentive and accommodating, seemed untroubled to sit beside him. In fact, the man's eyes sparkled in the dim lamplight flickering through the loft area that served as their dining room. Charles wanted to be close to the action and intrigue. Close to Haytham. It was an unfamiliar comfort that Haytham basked in privately for a moment while everyone ate in silence.

Haytham began to gather his thoughts on what, if anything, he ought to say about his plans for the day. Johnson had given Haytham a goose chase as soon as met him, sending him and Charles off to work with Hickey only the day before. They retrieved some of Johnson's work from thieves -- a petty task to ask of someone who was effectively the Grand Master at this point. But Haytham hadn't minded overly. While he took note of the subtle assertion from Johnson that he prove his capabilities, Haytham enjoyed running errands of daring now and then anyway, to keep sharp, so it had rolled off of him easily enough. 

That mission had also helped to inform him on the natures of his companions further. He had learned quite a bit about Thomas Hickey and Charles both yesterday. Charles had shown himself to be, while a little gun-shy and nervous by nature, still very loyal and prepared to take on new challenges. And he was not a bad shot, either, when he put his heart to task.

Hickey, on the other hand, seemed encumbered by a drive to operate alone, while constantly being assigned to work with others -- no doubt to keep him out of trouble, which he excelled at sniffing out. Haytham didn't much like the man. He was ill-humored, crude, lazy and inconsiderate. And he smelled like liquor. And sex.

 

But these were complaints for another time. This morning they needed to focus on gathering the others that were still absent from this awkward little family breakfast.

"I intend to rally Church for us today," Haytham told his companions. "Charles will accompany me." It wasn't a question, though Haytham did shift his gaze to Charles briefly to ensure there was no objection.

There was not. Quite the opposite, Lee looked very pleased indeed. He opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it, deferring to his seniors.

"We shall go as soon as the meal is done, unless I'm needed here yet?" Haytham looked to Hickey and Johnson, who both shook their heads. Haytham hadn't really expected any objections from them. They would be glad to have him out of earshot again, no doubt, and on another errand that benefited Johnson, at that. For it was Church's information sources that would bring what had already been retrieved of Johnson's work to any real boil.

Haytham stood from the table and Charles jumped to follow suit. Though practically vibrating with anticipation, he still waited politely for Haytham to take the lead down the stairs. 

As they descended to the Green Dragon's main floor, Haytham could hear Johnson and Hickey speaking in low voices behind, as soon as he and Charles were more than halfway down.

It was only natural. Those already acquainted with one another inevitably feel a need to discuss their impressions of any newcomers for a time, until they decide how they collectively feel.

"It's not terribly far to Mr. Church's home," Charles said as they left. He gave a small nod to the innkeep, who was sweeping and barely looked up, a sullen expression plastered on his face.

Outside, it was a pleasant enough day for walking. The sun was weak and pale, but warmth soaked into the stone underfoot all the same and brightened everything with a soft glow. It was nearly midday now, and business was in full swing everywhere that Haytham turned his eyes. But he mainly kept them on Charles.

The young man walked with a comfortable confidence. His gaze moved from building to building, looking freely at whatever caught his attention. A tiny smile was in his eyes, though it carefully didn't reach his mouth. His love for Boston was a visible thing and Haytham found it hard to focus on the city when he could watch Charles experience it instead.

"Have you been in Boston long, Charles?" Haytham asked.

Charles looked to him with a smile that said he was glad for conversation. "Not long at all, sir. I only first arrived in the colonies earlier this year, in fact."

"You seem very comfortable here despite that."

"Yes, sir, well, I try. Knowing one's way is in itself a way to be of use, after all."

"Certainly," Haytham agreed with mild surprise. "But how do you enjoy it here?"

"Oh, very much. There's a great deal of sights, and all manner of new adventures to discover." Charles spoke quickly, blue eyes bright as he turned to look at Haytham every few seconds, between navigating around other pedestrians. "Of course, until recently I wasn't as free to explore. My commission tends to keep me well in tow yet."

"Of that I have no doubt." Haytham kept his tone agreeable though he felt uncertainty about just how much of the young man's time the military took up. It wouldn't be very useful down the road, if he were to attempt initiation into the Templar Order. Not unless he also had a knack for spying, and the kind of smooth discretion necessary to be stationed under the orders of non-brothers without losing accountability. No, if Charles wanted to serve the Order fully in the days to come, his leash would need to trade hands.

But for now it was best not to show too unpleasant an opinion on anything about Charles' life. He needed to hear appreciation from Haytham, and encouragement when he shared anything at all about himself. Only then would Charles continue to share honestly, or be able to form a positive impression of Haytham, which could then be further molded. He needed to trust Haytham as a friend -- that was when people could really hold value for the Order.

As he thought on these things, the sounds of Boston drifted out, muffled slightly and though his gaze stayed fixed on his path, his mind's lens was on another place altogether: Birch's winter holding, in a orange-lit parlor.

_"It's important to me that you know I can be more than just an employer or asset for you."_

_Birch's voice drifted into Haytham's consciousness, growing firm and clear, but with that hint of honey-warmth that came with drinking brandy together by firelight after a long day of training or business negotiations. "You're a dear friend to me, Haytham. I hope today has proven that, lest you doubt yet."_

_"I don't doubt it at all, sir. Not . . . what I mean is, thank you, sir." Haytham heard his younger voice, and felt his cheeks warm slightly as they had then. Birch considered him a friend -- a dear one. His mentor had beenconcerned with proving himself trustworthy to Haytham, but it was Haytham that felt he had finally proven his loyalty and love to Birch enough to be considered a true friend at all._

That . . . that was the mindset that he now wished to lay a foundation for in Charles -- if Charles even made it far enough to have such a heartening realization for himself. 

Haytham found it was often a good idea to treat young hopefuls as if their initiation were uncertain, whether or not he knew. In this case, it was up to Haytham himself. But he still didn't know. He was himself a "hopeful" here, it seemed.   
He liked Charles well enough, and there was an instinctive trust there that he wished to foster. But there was a stronger instinct in Haytham to doubt other human beings. At the moment, these conflicting natures postured, eager to duel.

"Do you expect your own stay here to be long, sir?"

Haytham's attention snapped fully back to Charles, who was keeping pace with him now, rather than leading ahead.

"I hope--" Haytham broke off, curbing his automatic response. He didn't know what he hoped . . . it had been only with reluctance that he had left British shores at all. His old family home there had been his safe haven, and here in the Colonies he faced a sudden ascension to power at the same time that it was all swept out from under him, thanks to a complete unfamiliarity with the land and people. But after seeing some of what Boston offered, his mind was beginning to calm enough to see that there were things, professional and otherwise, which could yet make his journey fulfilling. He had to believe that.

"I hope to make use of my stay, however long its duration," he finished uncertainly.

Charles' expression was difficult to read. It wasn't to say _unreadable_ , but Haytham saw combinations of thoughts behind his eyes that didn't seem to make sense when mixed together. And when Charles spoke it was only to say: "We're nearly there. He's just down two, there, on the right." And he pointed out the house of Mr. Church.


End file.
